


Trace

by Akoya8



Series: Birthday One-Word Prompts [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Big Damn Heroes-Margaery Style, Drama, F/M, Girl On The Run, Intrigue, Misdirection, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Scheming, Unplanned Pregnancy, Westeros-A Tour, You May Not Get A Happy Ending, Younger Siblings Are A Trial, and a wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoya8/pseuds/Akoya8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life that Sansa has been living for the last couple of years comes crashing down around her. Drastic measures are taken, friends are called, and then things get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Sansa Receives Some Distressing News

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themysteryvanishing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysteryvanishing/gifts).



> Discalimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire. It belongs to GRRM. 
> 
> Author’s Note: This is number 30 in my one-word prompt series, and to make it extra special, it’s a chap-fic! AU Tywin/Sansa. No real warnings as of yet, but the rating can change at my whim (FEAR ME FOR I AM BECOME FIC-AUTHOR, THE DESTROYER OF HOPES AND DREAMS!). 
> 
> *ahem*
> 
> This fic is a WIP, but it’s close to being done. I don’t really have a schedule for uploading/updating because I am busy with a bunch of grading and working on my own assignments, so I’ll just play it by ear. Please enjoy!

* * *

 

Sansa stared at the plastic stick with mounting horror.

_Positive_.

She was _pregnant_.

No, she wasn’t just pregnant; she was pregnant with the child of her lover, _Tywin Lannister_.

She felt her knees give, and seconds later, the rest of her followed until she was sprawled on the tile floor of her bathroom. The words kept parading through her head: positive, pregnant, Tywin. _Gods, this is a disaster of epic proportions. I’m too young, too unmarried, and too much a Stark to have a Lannister child_.

That thought gave her pause. An abortion would solve her problem quite neatly, but try as she might, Sansa could not see herself walking into a clinic and doing away with the thing that would become her child.

Warm, wet lines began trailing down her face, and she knew that that was not the only reason why she wanted to keep the baby: it would be the only thing she had of Tywin. Because she couldn’t stay with him now that she knew.

Tywin was many things: ruthless CEO, power-hungry tyrant, and fierce protector of his legacy. Sansa was well aware that the children he already had were mere pawns in the games that he played, and the one growing inside of her would be added to their ranks if she stayed. So, even though she loved him (a truth she had never let fall from her lips in his presence), no, because she loved him, she would leave.

She would run back to the North, to Winterfell, to the warm bosom of her family (who would forgive anything), and she would forget the Sansa Stark who loved Tywin Lannister.

* * *

 

Disappearing without a trace was a great deal easier in theory than it was in practice.

For several days she had gone about her business, acting like nothing was wrong; her only exception was Tywin. Luck, however, or the gods, had shown her a small measure of favor where he was concerned. She’d only seen him once after she found out, and he was on a flight to the Free Cities the next day. Sansa had kissed him tenderly, putting every bit of the love she felt for him into it, and promised that she would see him when he returned.

Then, as she tried to pack her life up, she realized that it was an impossible task she’d set for herself.

In a moment of desperation, she reached out to Margaery, hoping that her friend would have a solution at the ready.

“Sansa, dear, I leave the city for a few days and when I get back, you’re up the duff from a one-night stand. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

Sansa wrinkled up her nose, “You don’t have to make it sound so sordid. I’m not that type of girl, but I got a little drunk. It sounded like a good idea at the time.” That sounded pathetic and stupid, even to her ears, but thankfully, Margaery bought it.

“Well, I daresay that a brat will keep you out of that kind of trouble for the next eighteen years or so. Any idea who the father is? Was there an exchange of mobile numbers, or names?”

Sansa shook her head, “No, I just remember that he was tall and blond.” “At least you didn’t stray from your usual.”

“ _Margaery_ , you could be a little nicer about all of this!”

“Would I be here if I weren’t the very model of the Maiden herself?”

Margaery’s comparison made her snort with laughter, and then she met the other woman’s eyes, and, seeing the repressed laughter there, burst into a fit of giggling. “Gods, Margaery, you haven’t sacrificed anything to the Maiden since you lost your virginity to that boy from Dorne!”

“Yes, well, one must keep up appearances,” Margaery responded primly, “else grandmamma would be terribly ashamed.” That prompted another round of giggling, at the end of which Margaery took on a more serious tone, “Really, Sansa, what can I do? You’ve been so vague…are you after a husband? Willas would be more than happy to step up, you know he _adores_ you.”

Sansa gave her a wry smile, “Don’t tempt me. I’d almost be willing to marry your brother if it meant avoiding telling my family, but I like him far too much to marry him without loving him. No, I need you to help me plan my escape.”

“You make it sound so clandestine! All you’re doing is relocating to the barren wasteland that is the North.”

“I’ve built a life here, Margaery; I need you to help me take it apart.”

“Where do you want to start?”

“Work. How do I quit without raising too much of a fuss?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy. Tell them this…”

* * *

 Margaery was brilliant. She’d taken hold of Sansa’s crisis and smoothed it over with some simple directives.

“Tell them you’ve been offered a job at Targaryen, and that they want you to start immediately. They’ll be so busy making you sign non-disclosure agreements that everything else will slip their minds.”

That piece of advice had the added benefit of stalling Tywin. His initial anger at her betrayal could blind him to the truth for quite some time.

“As for your flat, you’ll take your clothes with you. The movers will take care of the rest, and your things will follow you North in a few days. But, why all the secrecy, dear? It’s not as if there’s anyone to hide from.”

“I’m embarrassed, and I’m not enchanted with the idea of raising my child in this cesspool of a city. Starks belong in the North.” _And Lannisters belong in the West_ , she added mentally before continuing, “I knew I’d go back for good someday, I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Hmm…if anyone asks, I’ll just say there was a death in the family, shall I?”

“That should do it.”

Tywin did not keep tabs on the younger crowds unless Joffrey was in trouble, so he would not hear anything suspicious from that end.

Margaery’s plans went off without a hitch, and a few days later, Sansa was on a train bound for the North. (She’d paid for the ticket in cash, and had taken care to hide her features from CCTV.)

Before leaving, she had stood in the doorway of the flat that had been her home since she started her affair with Tywin. They had spent hours, days there, locked away from the rest of the world. She had received her first genuine smile from him in the kitchen after she’d botched the meal she had been making for him. They’d exchanged gifts every Wintermas in what passed for her parlor. They had attempted having sex in her cramped shower once, before Tywin had banned all such activities in that particular space, and she had ignored him.

The flat was full of memories, some good, some bad, some utterly exquisite, and she had left them all behind. She had run from her flat, fearing that the memories would drag her back in if she let them.

The train ride was uneventful. She spent it rehearsing all the things she would say to her parents, the apologies and the promises she would make. But, Sansa forgot them all when her mother opened the door, and instead, she threw her arms around Catelyn’s neck, letting all the tears she’d been holding back spill forth.

Sansa Stark plus one had returned to Winterfell.


	2. In which Tywin becomes suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So, some of my readers are unsure as to how they feel about a possibly not-so-happy-ending. If you’re looking for someone to blame, look no further than my dear friend, themysteryvanishing. She put that evil into my head! But then I embraced it…the Dark Side has cookies. Also, I have a feeling that Tywin's chapters may end up being consistently shorter than Sansa's. We shall see if the pattern holds up.

She hadn’t answered, or returned, his calls.

Usually, he supported her discretion, but the prolonged silence made him uneasy and suspicious. Tywin did not think of himself as being paranoid, merely aware, but he was determined to discover what was afoot before he stepped back onto Westerosi soil.

His first point of contact was Varys. “Find out why she isn’t answering my calls, run another report on Cersei and Tyrion, and put someone on her flat. I want to know what she’s doing.”

His second point of contact was Genna. If there were the slightest bit of intrigue wafting around the office, she would sniff it out. “Something is not right, and I’m not coming back until I know what it is and have dealt with it.”

“Don’t worry, you paranoid bastard, I was due for tea with Olenna anyway.”

The mere utterance of that old hag’s name set his teeth on edge. “What does _she_ have to do with anything?”

“If you want to know what’s wrong in your house, you don’t ask the servants, you ask the neighbors.”

“Do it, then, but don’t mention me. She and I are on less than agreeable terms right now. I believe that she was most displeased when Casterly won the Martell account.”

“About that, be careful. I’ve been hearing some disconcerting things from that quarter.”

“Why do you think I’m in the Free Cities? There’s an information broker here who has been very useful.”

A day later, Genna called, reporting on what sounded like a successful hunt. “She let slip some information about the Martells. Apparently, the second son, Oberyn, I think (they have so many bastards, it’s hard to tell which Martell someone is talking about), is making waves in the company. Doesn’t like the idea of bedding down with lions.”

“And what of our own house?” Tywin took care not to sound impatient, lest Genna seize on the weakness and exploit it.

“Nothing. Olenna mentioned that a friend of her granddaughter was poached by Targaryen, but HR assured me that the necessary documentation was signed and filed.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, which of his employees had defected, but he had to be sure. “Who?”

“Pardon?”

“Whom did Targaryen poach?”

“I think it was the Stark girl, but she’s hardly important.”

‘Hardly important?’ Genna could not be more mistaken, she was…no, Sansa Stark _was_ insignificant. He would make sure of it. “Shore up our defenses. I do not anticipate an attack, but we cannot be too careful. Inform Kevan and have someone dredge up whatever the Stark girl had on her desk. We need to focus on damage and fallout control if it was anything remotely sensitive.”

“You don’t think that that overbearing Stark honor will stop her from committing corporate espionage?”

“If it doesn’t, she will have a large debt to pay,” and Tywin would be sure to collect it, with interest.

His feelings regarding the situation only worsened when he received Varys’ report.

“It appears that Miss Stark is making plans to leave the flat. Her friend, the Tyrell girl, is applying for a new flat with the intention of taking on a co-signer. Targaryen Enterprises has been surprisingly tightlipped. I’ve not found one employee who has knowledge of Miss Stark’s employment, which means that they’re keeping it a secret, or…”

“Or what?” Tywin’s silky voice dropped to a dangerous register, making Varys feel pity for the poor sod that would suffer the brunt of his wrath.

“Or, taking a job at Targaryen was a ruse designed to hide her true intentions.”

“And what might those ‘intentions’ be?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Lannister; with the information I have, I can only speculate.”

“Then you had better rectify that oversight.”

“Right away, Mr. Lannister.”

Confusion was not a state that Tywin inhabited with ease, and the more he learned about the situation with Sansa, the more his confusion increased. Sansa was an honest creature by nature, and lies did not come to her easily.

_He_ had taught her deception; the use of half-truths and omissions he had fed to her like the sweets she adored, never suspecting that she would turn his teachings against him.

Men in love were fools, and old men in love were even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note II: I totally stole the phrase ‘old men in love’ from an Alasdair Gray novel of the same name: Old Men in Love.


	3. In which Sansa enlists more help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: When I originally wrote this chapter, there ended up being a great big gaping plot hole that had to be corrected, and I would not have caught it if I weren’t so caught up in this fic (yay for distracting obsessions). Oh, I forgot to add in the last chapter’s AN that my dear friend, themysteryvanishing, totally gets to read the chapters as I finish them. In other words, she knows what happens up through chapter seven. If you’re reading this chapter and you get the sense that someone, somewhere is cackling madly…that’s her.

The first month was the hardest for her.

Winterfell, which had once seemed a paradise, swiftly became a prison as she secluded herself away from the world (per Margaery’s plan).

“ _Sansa, I know it sounds awful now, but it’s only for a month. You have to give Lannister and that pet spider of his time to exhaust all avenues of inquiry before they set their sights on Winterfell_ —”

“ _Wait_.”

“ _What_?”

“ _I never told you it was Tywin_.”

“ _Please, Sansa, give me a little credit. You said ‘tall and blond,’ and I know you better than you think I do. Like I said, you’re not the one-night stand type. You’re the ‘committed relationship’ type_.”

“ _But how did that get you to Tywin_?”

“ _I snooped around your workplace. You told me that you worked in Lannister’s department, quite a coup for someone so young, and that got me thinking. Jaime Lannister has been off the market for years (trust me, you don’t want to know the details), so that automatically disqualified him. You said ‘tall,’ so no Imp for you, and believe it or not, there aren’t that many blond Lannisters running around the top floor. I counted three. Kevan, Genna, and the ‘Great Lion,’ Tywin Lannister_.”

 _Sansa wanted to point out that she probably knew more about Jaime’s life than her friend could possibly begin to guess, but she was getting impatient, "Get to the point, Margaery_.”

“ _Don’t be so impatient! I need a chance to show off every once in a while. I’m more than just my looks, you know_.”

“ _You’re looking for praise, I take it_?”

 _Margaery sniffed_ , “ _Well, a little awe wouldn’t go amiss. It’s not like Casterly hands out information like this_.”

 _Her pouting expression made Sansa roll her eyes_ , “ _I swear, by the old gods and the new, that you, Margaery Tyrell, are as brilliant as you are beautiful. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me the rest of your scintillating tale of investigation and intrigue_.”

“ _That’s better_ ,” the other girl beamed at her, “ _now, where was I? Oh, yes, Tywin Lannister. So, I snooped a bit more and found out that he’s been using you as his exclusive PA for the last two years! You naughty girl, you never told me_!”

“ _It was kept quiet for a reason, Margaery. Every company has its weak spots_.”

“ _And you were Lannister’s. I’m impressed, actually. Grandmother and I were convinced that he had ice-water instead of blood running through his veins_.”

“ _YOU TOLD OLENNA_?”

“ _I did more than tell her, I enlisted her. As far as allies go, she’s almost as good as me_ ( _better in some ways, but she lacks my youthful vigor_ ).”

 _Sansa shook her head despondently_ , “ _That’s it, it’s over. I’m done. This whole thing is ruined. She hates Tywin too much to keep quiet for long_.”

“ _It’s precisely because she hates Tywin that she’ll keep quiet. Listen, Sansa, he’s going to find out_.”

“ _No, not if I_ —”

“ _Yes, he is. And when he does, you only have one option available that will keep your baby out of his hands_.”

“ _And what might that be_?”

“ _You have to make him think that it isn’t his_.”

 _A flash of pain seared through her. How could she lie to the man she loved like that? Leaving him was one thing, but this was something else entirely. “Margaery, I don’t think that could do that_.”

“ _You will if you want your child to grow up to be a Stark and not a Lannister_.”

 _It hurt, but Margaery was right. She was committed to raising her child as a Stark, and to falter now was lose it all. She straightened up and lifted her chin, “You’re right. Of course you’re right. What do I do after Winterfell_?”

“ _I have grandmother dropping misleading hints here and there to slow them down, but it can’t last. By the time they’re done with King’s Landing, you’ll be in High Garden. Don’t worry about needing a maester, I’ve already contracted a midwife for you. She’ll keep her mouth shut and take care of you and the baby. It will all work out for the best, Sansa, you just have to believe and persevere_.”

Margaery had chosen well; the midwife was as closemouthed as they came, preferring actions to words. Osha was of the North, and she knew how important it was that Sansa’s presence at Winterfell be kept quiet. However, none of that stopped Sansa from being bored or restless.

Her mother was still coddling her, which kept her from doing anything more physical than laying the dishes for supper. So, Sansa made it a point to go to the godswood at least once a day, usually with a bouncy Rickon, as well as his puppy, Shaggydog.

“Sansa, you’re getting _fat_.”

There were times that Sansa regretted not being an only child, and when Rickon spoke without thought or care, she wished that she could string him up by his ears until he begged for mercy. Osha, who had tagged along with the siblings that day, must have sensed Sansa’s less than charitable thoughts, “That will be enough out of _you_ , little Stark. One more word like that and I’ll teach you the ferocity of women with the back of my hand.”

Rickon wisely took the woman at her word and abandoned his earlier train of thought. He kicked a few stones around, chased after a squirrel with Shaggydog then flopped down at the base of the Weirwood, waiting for Sansa and Osha to catch up. When they did, he graced them with another piece of knowledge, “Arya’s going to be here tonight.”

That stopped Sansa in her tracks. Gods, out of all the siblings that she had, she dreaded Arya (well, Arya’s reaction to her pregnancy) the most. So far, she had faithfully held to the lie of the baby being the result of a one-night affair, but Arya knew her better than even Margaery did. Sansa would have to tell her the truth and swear her to secrecy. Arya had no love for the Lannisters, and a particular hatred for Joffrey, so she would keep her mouth shut.

And if she threatened to tell…

Sansa would at least make an honest effort to capitalize on sibling solidarity before resorting to blackmail.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Mum and dad; they were talking about it when they left.”

Why hadn’t they warned her? Sansa sighed, it probably hadn’t occurred to them that she would like to be warned. “Sneaky eavesdropper, did you hear when she would get here?”

Rickon stuck his tongue out at her, “Not telling.”

Mother save her from younger siblings! “Rickon, if you don’t tell me, I’ll shave Shaggydog and make him look like one of Aunt Lysa’s poodles.”

Her brother gasped in outrage, “That’s not right, Sansa! Shaggydog never hurt you!”

Sansa growled warningly, “ _Rickon_ …”

“Fine! She’ll be here half eight!”

She relaxed; that would give her enough time to prepare, “Thank you, Rickon.”

He eyed her warily, gathering up Shaggydog in his arms, “Getting fat has made you mean, Sansa. I hope you get thin soon!”

She would have hit him for that, but Osha got there first.

“Ow!”

“I warned you, little Stark. You got off lucky; that was a love tap.”

Rickon rubbed the sore spot on his head, glowering at the woman, “I’ll put frogs in your bed.”

“That’s fine with me, little Stark, I like a midnight snack.”

His glower was replaced with horrified fascination, “You eat them raw?”

“Legs and all.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” he breathed out reverently.

Sansa shook her head at the two of them. “You two can stay and discuss your strange appetites, but I’m going back now.”

“But we just got here!”

“I’m not telling you to come, Rickon!”

“Bossy fat lady. Ow!”

Sansa didn’t wait to see if they would follow, she had more important things on her mind, like how to tell Arya that she was pregnant with the child of Tywin fucking Lannister.

* * *

 

“WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK, SANSA?”

“Gods’ sakes, Arya, would you stop shouting? I don’t want to have to strangle you, but I will if you don’t stop. You _know_ what Rickon is like. He’s drawn to trouble like a fly to honey, and he doesn’t have inkling of what it means to keep his mouth shut.”

“Serve you right if they heard me at the Wall! This is not something that I can be calm about. _You’re pregnant_!”

“Yes.”

“With the godsdamned child of Tywin 'I Shit Gold' Lannister!”

“…Yes.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“No!”

“Why not? He deserves it for getting you up the duff and then abandoning you.”

Sansa mumbled under her breath, “Hedoesntknow.”

“What?”

She cleared her throat and tried again, “He doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d say that changes things.”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t want him to know, I take it?”

“Right.”

Arya grinned like a shark, “Fantastic! Where do I come in?”


	4. In which Tywin battens down the hatches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: And if you look on your left, you will see the latest update from this author. We would take you closer, but after the last person was bitten, we’ve decided that it is safer to chuck reviews and love at her from a distance. 
> 
> *sigh* Writing angst makes me both happy and maniacal. I wrote the confrontation chapter yesterday, and while that is a few away for my readers…damn.

He had returned to King’s Landing after two more weeks in the Free Cities, and only after he was certain that Casterly had been prepared for whatever onslaught Targaryen was planning. Surprisingly, Varys had found very little information regarding Sansa’s virtual disappearance from the city. Tywin was sure that she had, for whatever reason, gone to ground in the Stark ancestral home. So, he would let her stay there, secure in the belief that he was unaware of her movements. She would keep, and when he was ready, he would confront her with the full force of his power and influence.

He turned his attention back to the quarterly review on his desk. All sectors were up from the last quarter, if only by a fraction in some cases, and shares were projected to go up by at least a full five percent before the end of the third quarter. Casterly was as solid as a rock, so why did he feel a sliver of apprehension lurking in the corner of his mind?

Sansa leaving had changed _nothing_. She had had no visible effect on his company or his life…but his bed was cold at night for the first time in almost two years. He hated to think that he was missing the traitorous bitch, but it was a damn sight better than admitting to himself that he did more than that. It was one thing to admit to the weakness of loving her, but it was quite another to admit that he was _affected_ by his feelings after taking great pains to correct their existence.

On his first night back in the city, Tywin had tried to bed a whore, but the avaricious glint in her eye and the falsity of her words and caresses had repulsed him. He hadn’t tried again since, and he hated Sansa for that, for making him feel unmanned by her desertion. When she was finally in his grasp again, he would make it plain to her that _he_ was the one who did the leaving. After that, he would be free of her, free of the specter of her smile and the soft touch of her hand on his face, free of the warmth she offered so willingly.

He would exorcise her from his mind and his flesh, and Sansa would regret her very existence in the world. The ringing of the phone interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the reality of the present.

“What?” he answered brusquely.

“I’ve just got back from taking tea with the neighbors, and I have a tidbit that I think will interest you.”

“And that would be?”

“The Stark girl never went to Targaryen, didn’t want the job, apparently.”

Tywin could feel his apprehension increasing with every word Genna spoke, “I am sensing that that was not all the news you pried from the old corpse’s lips.”

“Hmm, quite right, brother mine. Olenna says that the girl is in High Garden. She also hinted at a future Stark-Tyrell alliance that would be cemented by a marriage.”

Even though the rage he felt building within him threatened to spill over, Tywin kept his voice smooth and relaxed as he replied to his sister, “An interesting development to be sure. Keep your eyes and ears open for more information. I have a feeling that Olenna is not done boasting yet.”

“Of course.”

She rang off, leaving him alone with his anger and, if he were being honest with himself, his pain. So, she thought she could escape him by surrounding herself with roses, did she? Perhaps it was time to send a spider into the garden.

The line rang once before Varys answered, “Yes, Mr. Lannister?”

“She’s in High Garden. Find out why.”

“Right away, Mr. Lannister.”

“And Varys…”

“Yes?”

“Your birds had better sing a prettier song this time, or you’ll find yourself in a very unpleasant situation. Do I make myself clear?”

“As Valyrian steel, Mr. Lannister.”

The line went dead, and Tywin pushed away from his desk, striding over to the window that overlooked the sprawling metropolis below him. He had the power to reach Sansa in High Garden. She and the Tyrells would learn that very soon.


	5. In which Sansa muses about High Garden and decides to make a scheme of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: If you look closely at this chapter, you will see that the author has decided to complicate the plot because she just couldn’t resist. Graduate school and grading students’ papers does strange things to her brainwaves. I must say, I am thoroughly enjoying my readers’ reactions to this particular fic. You guys run the gamut of emotions and despair seems to be in the general order of the day. I guess I’m doing something right.

Sansa had never been to High Garden before, and while its novelty was charming and its people interesting, it made her miss Tywin more than ever. He had a hatred for all things insipid, and she couldn’t help but think that the Tyrells’ fetishization of the rose could be anything else. Roses were _everywhere_ , etched into every building, planted on every street corner and in every window box. Their cloying perfume followed her around as if it were trying to seep into her and drive out every trace of Tywin Lannister.

Her stomach lurched at that the thought and she placed a protective hand over her slightly swollen belly. At least her baby would be the one thing that would bear Tywin’s stamp forever in one way or another no matter how hard Margaery tried to convince her that marriage to a Tyrell was the way to go.

Now that Margaery had joined her in High Garden, Sansa could not escape her subtle, and not so subtle, hints. Sansa spent her days preparing for Margaery’s insinuations and smirks. It was difficult to keep turning her friend down, especially when Margaery had been so kind, supportive, and so damn _welcoming_. Her room at the Tyrell estate was massive and, best of all, filled with light.

Sunbeams poured through the huge windows, bathing everything they touched in a bright yellow glow. It was such a change from the North. Sansa loved Winterfell, but the last month had proven to her just how oppressive its walls could be. Still, she admitted to herself, the windows before her were walls, just of a different kind. She was afraid that she would be surrounded by walls in one way or another for the rest of her life, but that thought was too depressing to dwell on for long.

She looked down at the open book on her lap, a libretto for _Florian and Jonquil_ , and knew that it hadn’t a wight’s chance in dragonfire of cheering her up. Going to Margaery was also of the question as she would take advantage of Sansa’s boredom and bad mood and try to press her into a date with Willas at some time in the near future. Again. Maybe Osha would be up for a walk…

Sansa sighed and rose from the chair, stretching out her limbs and rolling her neck. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and raised her shirt partway up her stomach. It was barely noticeable, the tiny life growing inside of her, and it was frightening to imagine that in just six more months she would be holding her child in her arms. Suddenly, she ached to feel Tywin’s arms around her, caressing the curve of her belly, whispering into her ear of a future that was nothing but words and air.

Osha, she needed to find Osha and get out of the house before she drove herself back into bed, weeping.

She checked the woman’s room and found her lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with peculiar intensity.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“I was counting.”

Sansa looked at the ceiling and seeing nothing there to provoke an arithmetic session, queried Osha as to the reason why.

“Nothing there to count. I was counting the minutes until you finally got tired of this gilded cage.”

Sansa blushed, “It’s not _that_ bad.”

“Nothing good comes of leaving the North, little Stark, you’d do well to remember that.”

Thinking back on all that had happened to her in King’s Landing, Sansa knew there was some truth to the woman’s words, but there were also memories of warm looks and touches and hours spent in bed next to the man she loved. “It’s not all bad, Osha. Who knows, you might find something about High Garden to love.”

“I’ll not hold my breath waiting for that to happen.”

“Well, I won’t give up hope.”

“That’s your father’s optimism talking.”

“We Starks have an incorrigible amount of it.”

“Hmm, how awful.” Osha rolled over, finally looking at Sansa, “‘Spose you’ll be wanting to go on a walk?”

“Gods, yes!”

“I’ll get my shoes.”

* * *

 

High Garden really was a beautiful city, cleaner than King’s Landing, but its beauty had an air of falsity, like something unpleasant was lurking just beneath its polished surface. Sansa shook her head, Osha’s words were getting to her, so she pushed them out of her mind, intent on enjoying her time outside.

“Do you have a destination in mind, little Stark, or are we going to continue wandering aimlessly?”

“Well, I thought we could do a bit of window shopping.”

The woman beside her snorted in derision, “A pointless exercise, but if you can’t think of anything better.”

“You think of something, then!”

“What’s wrong with actually shopping? Exchanging coin for products instead of eying up what you don’t intend to buy. That’s like taking your clothes off in front of a man before telling him that he can’t fuck you.”

“Osha!”

“You know, I’ve never heard window shopping described in that manner before, but now that I have, I don’t think I’ll ever think of it the same way again.” They turned around in surprise to see Willas Tyrell staring at them with a bemused smile on his face. “Hullo, Sansa, you’re looking well.”

“Willas! Margaery didn’t say that you were expected back today.”

“I felt my ears burning while I was at Storm’s End, so I thought I had better hurry back to put a stop to whatever Margaery is plotting.”

“How did you know that she was plotting?”

“Just a feeling, really, but it was confirmed when she sent me straight out the door to find you. So, Sansa, is there anything I should know, or am I to be left in the dark while my baby sister and her friend scheme behind my back?”

“I doubt that that is a situation that you are unfamiliar with,” Osha broke in.

“Osha, there’s no call to be rude. I’m sorry, Willas.”

Thankfully, Willas shrugged Osha’s words off, “Not to worry, Sansa, your brute of a companion will have to do worse if she hopes to score a hit on _me_.”

Osha grinned fiercely at the challenge, “I eat little boys like you for supper, though you look a bit too stringy to make a proper meal.”

“Okay, stop it, both of you. Let’s start over: Willas, this is Osha Sperwif; Osha, this is Willas Tyrell, my friend and our host.” Sansa was appalled to see them eye each other with intense dislike.

“So, I’m to be subjected to your presence for some time, then? I’ll make a note to re-stock my supply of barbs and brandy.”

“Afraid I’ll do more than eat you, little boy?”

“Just what are you doing here, anyway? Putting on some traveling show? ‘Come see the Amazing Bitch: insults a pence each, saliva comes free?’”

“Gods, Willas, she’s my midwife!”

That brought him up short, and he got a vaguely queasy look on his face, “You’re not going to give birth now, are you?”

Osha rolled her eyes, “Use what little brain the gods were kind enough to give you. Does she look _that_ pregnant to you?”

Willas backpedalled furiously, “NO! You look fine, Sansa, gods’ truth! But, how did you get pregnant?”

Sansa blushed while Osha continued to harangue him, “Through the usual method, I suspect, or have you still not had your first pump-and-tickle?”

It was Willas’ turn to blush, and he reddened magnificently, “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”

“So you’ve been kissed at least? Gods be praised.”

Sansa had had enough of their petty bickering, so she continued to walk towards the shops, calling back as she did, “I’ll see you later, Willas. Tell Margaery that I’ll be out a bit longer.” She didn’t know if either of them could hear her over their squabbling. They were like an old married couple bickering over who had eaten the last prune. The thought gave her pause, and a wicked smirk crept across her face. Perhaps there was a way to misdirect Tywin and get Margaery to stop matchmaking at the same time. Now it was her turn to do some plotting. She had to restrain herself from rubbing her hands together like some mad scientist.


	6. In which Arya comes in and the plot is advanced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Here it is that chapter you’ve all be waiting for: Arya, the Bold and Magnificent! And Jaqen. 
> 
> In other news, my dear friend (themysteryvanishing) and I started riffing Phil Collins and making strange Tarzan noises in regards to upcoming chapters. Not that Phil Collins has anything to do with what is going to happen, but sometimes emotions need an outlet.

“This is the third club that a girl has dragged a man to. A man begins to desire the comfort of his bed and the caresses of a willing girl.”

“You won’t get either of those if you don’t stop complaining. In fact, I’ll cut you off for a month if you keep it up.”

“…a girl is very cruel.”

“Knock it off, grown men shouldn’t pout, it’s disturbing.”

“Very well, a man will stop.”

“Finally. Okay, let’s go over this one more time.”

“If we must.”

Arya glared at him before continuing, “He’s definitely in there this time. I’ve got a friend with eyes on right now.”

“This ‘friend’ wouldn’t happen to be Gendry, would it?” Jaqen made the name sound like a bad smell, and his lip curled up in disgust.

“Gods, don’t do the ‘alpha-male’ thing; Gendry and I broke up years ago.”

“That boy had better remember that, or a man will be most happy to remind him.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t be stupid. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” she paused to look pointedly at Jaqen who contrived to look innocent. “That shithead, Joffrey, is in there. Now, he’s stupid, but even he can smell something’s off if we don’t sell it.”

“And what incentive does a man have to play along?”

“Not getting my foot up your arse, for one.”

“And the other?”

Arya pretended to ruminate over the question, “Hmm…I don’t know…Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll let you tie me up, but,” she wagged a finger in his face, “you have to let me tie you up first.”

Jaqen smoldered at her, “Oh, a man is quite willing to let a girl tie him up and have her way with him.”

“Good, that’s settled. Ready?”

“But of course.”

“Then let’s go spread a rumor.”

* * *

 

The inside of the club was dark and the air smelled like sweat, sex, beer, bad judgment. Arya couldn’t wait to get out of there, but first she was going to do her part to make merry hell in the life of Tywin Lannister; Sansa deserved no less. “I see Gendry at the bar.”

“Pardon?”

Arya raised her voice, “I see Gendry at the bar! Let’s go!”

Arya and Jaqen wove their way through the crowded floor, stopping when they reached the bar. “Hey, Gendry, where is he?!”

“The little prick’s in the VIP section! Here, I swiped you a couple passes!”

“You’re the best!” She ignored Jaqen’s glower and kissed Gendry on the cheek. Serve him right for bitching all night. He pulled her away and she brandished the passes. “Okay, he’ll see me and I’ll see him, but we hate each other so we’ll pretend like we didn’t. The trick will be sitting close enough for him to hear without making it look like we want him to!” Jaqen nodded in understanding and they set off for the back of the club.

They showed their passes to the hulking gatekeeper and he waved them in. As the door closed behind them, the music in the club was muffled and the smells changed to sweat, sex, champagne, and snobbery. “You go first, Jaqen, I’ll let you scope it out and pick. Hopefully, his face will be too deep in some whore’s tits for him to notice us just yet.”

He nodded, then grabbed her hand as they entered the dim room. Arya spotted Joffrey immediately; he had, as she’d hoped he would, planted his face so deep into some slag’s tits that she feared he might suffocate before she could execute her role in Sansa’s play. Jaqen led her around the circular room to a set of sofas perfectly situated behind Joffrey. They settled into them, ordering a couple of drinks to give Joffrey some time to come up for air.

Jaqen glanced briefly at Joffrey before looking back to her and nodding slightly. She squared her shoulders and nodded back. Showtime.

He pitched his voice slightly louder than necessary to catch the moron’s attention, “So, you were saying that something big happened when you were at Winterfell a couple weeks ago?”

Arya could sense Joffrey perking up at the mention of the Stark home. “Yeah, you will _never_ believe what Sansa’s gone and done!”

“Well, I’ve never met your sister, so I don’t think I can imagine anything in particular.”

“Come on, guess!”

“Hmm…did she get a tattoo?”

“Nope! Try again!”

“Does she have a new boyfriend that’s a gang member?”

“Oh, that was pretty close. Wanna try again?” She could practically feel the sadistic glee rising in Joffrey, and for a moment, she wanted to stop this before he found out. Sansa didn’t deserve to become the object of his foul mockery, but she would press on.

“You said I was close? In that case, said gangbanger has knocked your sister up and they plan on getting married.”

“The grand prize was almost yours, but you missed some key elements!”

Jaqen feigned disappointment, “Damn it. Alright, what did I get wrong?”

“Sansa’s knocked up, but she’s refusing to tell who the father is, says it was some random bloke and a one-night stand.”

“How mysterious.”

“Right? But, that’s not all. I think I know who the father _really_ is.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, she’s gone to High Garden, and she mentioned being excited to see Willas Tyrell again. I think she’s got more than one reason why.”

“Your sister is quite the woman of mystery. Any idea how you’ll confirm your suspicions?”

Arya could feel Joffrey getting ready to open his mouth and spew forth his filth, so she braced herself and waited.

“I bet,” came the slightly slurred voice, “I bet that the brat will have its bastard father’s limp, or that it will look like that fucking pederast.”

She turned slowly and let the full force of her glare fall on Joffrey, “Oh, I didn’t know they let children into this club, Baratheon. It’s past your bedtime; shouldn’t that whore you call ‘mother’ be tucking you in right now?” As zingers went, it wasn’t her finest, but it was more than enough to make Joffrey’s face turn blotchy with anger.

“And I thought you were too butch to wrap your legs around someone who was born with a cock. Looks like we’re both full of surprises.”

Jaqen was standing next to her with a hand on her arm before she even realized that she had stood up, ready to thrash the little shit. She lowered her arm and glared at Joffrey, “Let’s get out of her, Jaqen, the air stinks like syphilitic cunt.”

She stalked out of the room, hoping to get away without giving Joffrey the last word. Once she was outside the club, she took deep breaths, trying to clear away the foul taste of the lie from her tongue. A warm hand settled on her waist and she turned into Jaqen’s shoulder, “Can we go home now.”

He hummed an affirmative into her hair.

“Rain check on the bondage, okay?”

“A man can wait.”

“You can help me shower away the filth of that fucking scum sack.”

“It will be a man’s pleasure.”

“And then I’ll call Sansa and tell her it’s done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note II: If you’re wondering how Joffrey would know the meaning of ‘pederast,’ I told themysteryvanishing that he probably looked it up to use against Loras. Why would he do something like that, you might ask. ‘Cause his bitch ass lost an argument with Loras and he needed to go and look up words to make himself sound smarter. Clearly he had high aspirations.


	7. In which Tywin gets some bad news and goes to a gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Here it is, dear readers, that moment you’ve all be waiting for: the big reveal! Dun Dun DUN! Quick recap of the previous chapters: shit went down. Quick chapter summary: shit hits the fan. 
> 
> CAUTION: Watch for flying shit.

The bi-weekly luncheon Tywin shared with his family was nothing short of tedious, but he welcomed the distraction it provided. What Varys had reported back seemed to confirm Genna’s news: Sansa was bedding down with the Tyrells.

However, Varys also said that he could see no affection between the eldest Tyrell boy and Sansa beyond that of friendship. That piece of information led him to believe that she was involved with the Tyrell boy for the sake of her family and whatever deal Ned Stark was trying to broker with that poisonous hag, Olenna.

It was a welcome thought because it meant that she had not left him of her own accord; her honor as a Stark had compelled her to walk away. Now it was just a matter of harpooning the Stark-Tyrell deal, and then Sansa would come back to where she belonged: his bed, his arms, his _life_.

“What do you think of the rumors regarding a merger between the Tyrells and the Starks?”

Kevan’s voice drew him from his thoughts. “Pardon?”

His brother sighed and repeated himself.

“At this point, no one is willing to confirm or deny anything, but the possibility of large sums of money exchanging hands has everyone nervous. Our stock has dropped a few points as a result,” Tywin grimaced at that bit of truth. People were nothing more than sheep and were too easily led. Even if such a deal were brokered, Casterly would remain unaffected, as it had always done.

“Hmm, still, I thought I’d make an appearance at the Tyrell fundraiser and do a bit more digging. I believe Stark is going to be there as well and he is notoriously bad about keeping such things under wraps. Care to join me?”

Tywin had made no plans to go and had no intention of acting the part of injured party where Olenna could see him. “I had—”

“Afternoon, everyone.”

He looked away from Kevan to see his wastrel of a grandson stroll into the dining room. “You’re late, boy.” Joffrey shrugged off the admonition and dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek before sitting down. He curled his lip in disgust as he watched her coddle the boy. “For gods’ sake, Cersei, let the boy cut his own fucking meat, or he’ll expect you to follow him to the lavatory and wipe his arse, too.”

Cersei glowered at him but did as she was told while Joffrey pouted. “Joffrey, your family makes an effort to be here on time, do not be so crass as to make them wait.”

The boy muttered a half-hearted apology, “Sorry, late night.”

“Your habit of spending Lannister money on those cunts you call ‘friends’ is trying my patience. Your useless nocturnal activities demonstrate that you are incapable of acting remotely responsible.”

The boy muttered something under his breath.

“Speak up!”

“‘S not useless, grandfather. I struck information gold last night at the club.”

Tywin sneered at him, “Let’s hear your ‘useful’ information, then.”

“Sansa Stark’s gone and got herself up the duff with the bastard spawn of some Tyrell,” Joffrey announced triumphantly.

He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. All the air left his lungs and he had to struggle to remain calm. _Sansa was pregnant_ , but not with his child. No, a Tyrell’s. A fucking rose-shitting Tyrell. She hadn’t left because her family needed her. She’d left because she had the heart of a traitorous whore.

“That’s certainly plausible given the rumors we’ve been hearing lately.”

Tywin sent up a small thanks for his brother’s words. He took a deep breath and let it out. He _ached_ to find Sansa that instant and wrap his hands around her pretty little throat and squeeze until she became familiar with the pain that he was experiencing. But he had to remain calm, for now, and he had to tell Kevan something, “Perhaps I’ll go to the gala after all and do a bit of my own information gathering.”

Kevan was right about Ned Stark; the man was incapable of lying, and Tywin would press him until the truth spilled out. 

* * *

 

Subtlety was an art that was lost on Starks, so Tywin decided on a more direct approach: confrontation. He took a moment to survey the floor, as usual for one of Olenna’s galas, the ballroom was packed with the glittering elite and their hangers on. He noted, with some surprise, that his eldest had made an appearance and was, at present, whispering into the ear of his big brute of a…lover. Though he had several doubts about the girl, Jaime’s life had moved in a more productive direction since her appearance. Thankfully, Tyrion was absent, no doubt preferring to spend his time and money on whores instead of war orphans or whatever the night’s charity was.

When he finally located his quarry on the other side of the room, Tywin heaved an inward sigh: the bloody bastard was with Olenna. Of all the godsdamned bad luck. He steeled himself against the coming engagement and made his way across the floor. His passage was eased by the instinctive parting of the crowd for Tywin Lannister, and he arrived at Olenna’s group in less than an minute.

A moment of hush settled on them and he used it to make his greeting to his host for the evening.

“Olenna.”

“Tywin.”

He tilted his head slightly, the acknowledgement of one battle-hardened general to another, and she returned the gesture.

“Another success for you, I think.”

“Oh, do dispense with the niceties, Tywin, you were never very good at them anyway.”

He refused to rise to her baiting, “Then I will not trouble you with them any further.”

“Are you quite sure? It has been at least a minute since I last heard a weather report; perhaps you would be so good as to tell me if it still looks like rain?”

“I thought you had other means of divining the weather,” he flicked his eyes down to her hips and let them linger to make his point. When he looked back up, her lips had compressed into a thin line. First blood was his.

Ned looked bemusedly at the two combatants and sued for peace between them, “Now that that’s done, shall I offer another point of contention, or were you hoping to go a second round?”

Olenna forced a small laugh and patted Ned’s arm, “Not to worry, dear, the prizefighters will put away their gloves.” _For now_ , her eyes told Tywin as he conceded to the end of the match with a nod.

Silence reigned among them for a moment before Ned broke it awkwardly, “I haven’t seen you at one of these dos for some time, Lannister.”

Though it was dangerous to reveal his hand to Olenna, he was counting on Ned to provide the answers he sought. Olenna’s unconscious reactions would confirm or deny his words. “I’ve been hearing some rumors around the office. I wanted to know if there was something more substantial to them than words and air.”

Olenna’s eyes narrowed, “Oh, and what might those be?”

“There’s talk of a Stark-Tyrell merger.”

Ned let out a bark of laughter at that, causing Olenna to wince. Perfect.

“I think something got mixed up along the way. Fascinating how people can do that. My best guess is that this started when I found out that I was going to be a grandfather.”

Tywin kept his voice even, belying his increased heartbeat, “I suppose congratulations are in order?”

“Thank you; Cat and I are thrilled, of course, but the circumstances are a bit embarrassing.” When Tywin made no move to speak, Ned went on, “It’s our eldest daughter, Sansa. She’s being mum about who the father is, but I have my suspicions. I was just about to start wheedling information out of Olenna when you arrived.”

A searing pain lanced through him so strongly that he feared he would lose his balance and fall. There it was, in plain words from the most honest man he had ever had the displeasure to know. He’d given parts of himself to her that he thought long dead, and she had betrayed him. Now there was only one thing left to do.

Tywin would go to her, demand her explication, and then he would destroy, piece by piece, every trace of her still left in his life. He would vindicate himself upon her before forgetting that she had ever had a place in his life and his heart.


	8. In which there is a confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Can you feel that? Soon the end will be upon us, and we will have to bid farewell to this fic. But for now…I hope you have a hanky ready.

Another week had gone by in High Garden, and Sansa felt that her plans for Osha and Willas were progressing nicely. _They couldn’t stand each other_ and would often ignore everyone else in their vicinity so that they could focus on insulting the other party. Sansa could practically _smell_ the sexual tension between them, and while it made her envious, she was also happy.

Nobody should ever be as alone as she felt, as she was. She had firmly squash the thought telling her that she had put Tywin in a similar predicament without a second thought. There _had_ been second thoughts, and _third_ thoughts, but in the end, she valued the future of her child over whatever momentary happiness she would experience if she stayed with Tywin. Sansa knew that no good would come of a future with him, she told herself that several times a day. If she were lucky, at some point her traitorous heart would believe it too.

A knock on the door interrupted her impromptu pity party. “Yes?”

The door opened to reveal one of the Tyrells’ servants, “Pardon, Miss Stark, but Miss Margaery stepped out to do some shopping and Mister Willas is…taking a walk.”

Sansa smiled inwardly at the euphemism. The poor man was too well-trained to say that Willas had probably stormed out of the house after another sparring match with Osha. “It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Tywin Lannister has arrived and is asking to see you.”

Oh gods, now? She’d thought—hoped, that she would have a bit more time, that Margaery would be next to her, providing support…

She’d hoped that she could have avoided this forever.

She felt weak and cold at the prospect of lying to his face, lying to him about their child, but she could not deny that she was also desperate to see him. He burned in her memory like a star, almost too bright to recall, but to stand in front of him again, just once, would be like tilting into the warm glow of the Summer sun. Gods, this was dangerous. What if she took one look at him and told him everything, begging him to forgive her and take her back?

No, Sansa shook herself, absolutely not. She would face him, cold and resolute. She, Sansa Stark, would do battle with the lion of Casterly Rock and win. Their child deserved no less.

Her resolve found, Sansa stood and motioned for the man to lead the way. They walked quietly down hushed corridors until they came to the door of the main drawing room. She murmured her thanks and asked him, “Will you find Osha and tell her what’s going on? I think I might need back up.” 

* * *

 

Sansa closed the door behind her and spent a moment taking him in. His anger was obvious, writ in the lines on his face, in the set of his mouth, and in the hardness of his eyes. But, beneath all that was something, something that she would have never seen if she hadn’t made him the object of intense study (and worship) for the last two years: hurt. She knew that she would never forgive herself for that, no matter how many years went by, but she would, here and now, do her best to make sure that he hated her enough to forget about that hurt.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lannister. You should have called ahead and let us know that you were coming.” Even if she had been blind, Sansa would have felt the way he seethed at her use of ‘us,’ but as her eyes were in perfect working order, she saw how his jaw clenched, how his hands balled into fists. She sent a brief prayer to the gods, asking that he break soon, that he give up and leave before _she_ broke.

“The Tyrells, Willas especially, are excellent hosts. I’m afraid that I am somewhat lacking in that regard, but my fiancé assures me that I will improve.” Sansa made a mental apology to Willas; he did not deserve the wrath of Tywin Lannister, she did.

Her mention of a ‘fiancé’ finally made him speak, and her heart nearly stopped to hear such a dear voice become so menacing. “So, it’s true, then? You fucked that Tyrell boy? You’re…pregnant…with his spawn?”

She couldn’t speak, could barely _breathe_ , so she just nodded.

“Then it would appear that I owe him a great debt for revealing to me your true nature. Well done, Miss Stark, you made Tywin Lannister a fool for a whore. However, Lannisters always pay their debts and I will discharge mine _now_ : should your future husband ever go against Casterly in any way, I’ll rake you through the mud. I will destroy you and ruin the future of your child as well. You would do well to let him know, Miss Stark. Now, I have more pressing business elsewhere, so you will have to excuse me.” He moved past her and she, what little bit of her that was still aware, noticed that he took care not to let any part of his body come into contact with hers. She managed to stay standing until she heard the door close, but a moment later, her legs had crumpled beneath her and she lay prostrate on the floor.

She wanted to cry, wanted to rail at the world and the gods, but most of all, she wanted to run after him and tell him that it was all a lie. So, she thanked her legs for their weakness, and tried to tell herself that the world had not yet come to an end.

* * *

 

When Osha found her, she had finally picked herself up and was making her way back to her room.

“Little Stark, I heard he was here. Are you all right?”

Sansa managed a weak smile, “I’m fine, Osha. I did what I had to do, and that’s what matters. My child will grow up to be a Stark, not a Lannister, and he-he’ll never kno-oh!” The tears came without her permission, and she let them sweep her away. _You deserve the pain_ , she told herself, _after what you did to him, you deserve it_.

Gods, if only there had been a way…

If she hadn’t been born a Stark, if he hadn’t been a Lannister, _the_ Lannister…

But that was all words and air.

Osha pulled her, still sobbing, into her arms, and Sansa let the blackness take her under.


	9. In which there is a wedding and some tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This is just a short little tidbit to tide you over until the next little tidbit. Moment of truth, dear readers: I still have to finish the last bit…and I haven’t really been writing on it as I have been focused on the school thing/teaching thing. So, bear with me as we make our way to the end of this fic!

Three months after her confrontation with Tywin, Sansa was finally beginning to put the pieces of her shattered heart back together. Though the world had not ended, it had, in many ways, moved on without her.

Without further encouragement, Willas and Osha had met each other head on in an explosive display of wills and passion. Willas had proposed a month later, to Olenna’s despair and Margaery’s delight, and two months after that, their wedding day arrived. She hadn’t been much help in the planning of the affair, but she had helped Olenna with the invitations.

Her first meeting with the Tyrell matriarch had been something of a disaster, though.

“ _So you’re the girl carrying Tywin’s bastard, and you’re also the reason why my eldest grandson is marrying some Northern wildling. You’ve got a brass set on you, my girl. Take care not to try your machinations on me_.”

_Sansa, though mortified by the woman’s comments, refused to be walked over like a rug_ , “ _I was never inclined towards people of your age or sex, anyway_.” _The fact that Tywin was at least a decade younger than Olenna was a technicality that Sansa clung to_.

_The woman had absorbed the hit, letting out a small chuckle_. “ _It appears he rubbed more than his seed off on you, my girl. Margaery’s been twittering in my ear about you, how broken you are, but you’re not broken at all_.” _Olenna advanced on her, but Sansa held her ground, not flinching away or looking down. The women appraised each other silently for a moment_. “ _You’ve still got that Stark ice keeping you hard. It would take more than the scorn of that old fool to break you_.”

While Sansa looked back on the encounter with no small amount of embarrassment, what Olenna said had, in a way, been the making of her.

Her recovery had accelerated, her interest in life was renewed, and thoughts of Tywin were accompanied by a deep-rooted feeling of love instead of pain. She did not blame him for his cruelty, but she no longer flogged herself with it. For the rest of her life, Sansa would carry with her memories filled with profound love and joy, and in the darks hours of the night they would shine all the brighter.

However, the wedding presented no small amount of trouble for her future plans. Tywin would avoid all mention of the Tyrell’s, he would more than likely bin his courtesy invitation to the wedding (sending it was a move calculated to make him angry enough not to read the damn thing), but there was still a chance of discovery. So, it was decided that she would be the third wheel on her friends’ honeymoon to Dorne, which would provide her with some security (Tywin hated Dorne, and though he did business with the Martells, he avoided them whenever possible). She would also still have Osha’s services for the next few months that remained of her pregnancy.

Overall, Sansa should have been feeling secure about the whole thing, but trepidation lurked in the back of her mind. 

* * *

 

The ceremony was nothing short of beautiful. As Sansa wiped a few tears away from her eyes, she was sorry that her parents had sent their regrets (and their confused congratulations). Her mother loved weddings, and she had known her father to become teary-eyed at them as well.

She watched as Willas wrapped Osha in his rose-emblazoned cloak, and smiled fondly when Osha cheekily draped her cloak (one that Sansa had embroidered with spears and direwolves) around his shoulders. As the couple walked back down the aisle, she saw Willas lean ever so slightly into his bride. He had confided in her a few days before the wedding that he wanted to be married without the aid of a cane. “ _Bad enough that I have to use the damn thing everywhere else, Sansa. I’ll be damned if I have to drag it up to the septon with me. Osha will support me if I need her to_.”

Sansa recalled his declaration as she watched Osha do precisely that. The guests began to follow behind the newlyweds. She moved to join the crowd, but was stopped by a hand grasping her elbow.

“Not so fast, Miss Stark. We need to have a chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note Part II: Now, who could that be?


	10. In which there is an unexpected guest and an even more unexpected conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hello, my lovelies! How are you on this fine Friday? I present to you the conclusion of the last chapter. I do apologize for that cliffhanger, but I must say that I enjoyed your reactions and speculations!

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Lannister.”

“Please, call me Jaime.”

“I guess that makes me Sansa.”

“I guess it does.”

“So, what are you doing here, _Jaime_?”

“I saw the invitation, unopened, in my father’s rubbish bin. He’s not one to throw correspondence away without looking at it, which around my insatiable curiosity. Ow! What was that for, Bear?”

“You’re stalling; spend less time praising yourself and get to the point.”

Jaime threw a longsuffering look at Sansa, “I don’t recommend getting a wife, Sansa, as they tend to be more trouble than they’re worth. Ow!”

Sansa’s eyes widened at his words, “You’re _married_? Ty—I mean, I didn’t even know you were engaged.”

His playful look turned shrewd, “I could say the same about _you_ , Sansa. According to my father, you should be the one currently smashing cardboard cake into the mouth of Willas Tyrell, not some other woman from the North.”

Oh gods, did he tell Tywin? “Jaime, did you—”

“Inform my father of his mistake? No. Which means you will be the one to satisfy my curiosity. Why would my father be so angry about a wedding featuring you as the supposed bride?”

She cast about for a credible lie, but came up with nothing. Tears began to well in her eyes, sending Jaime into a panic. “Bear, do something!”

“You shouting won’t help anything. Shut up.”

Sansa’s shoulders were grabbed and suddenly she was looking up into the bluest eyes that she had ever seen. “Sansa, my name is Brienne Tar—”

Jaime interrupted her with a cough and she glared at him before continuing, “Brienne _Lannister_ , and I’m a PI. You know what that is right?”

Sansa shook her head yes.

“Good, now, how about I tell you what I found out for Jaime, and then you fill in the rest. Sound good to you?”

“Ye-yes.”

“Okay, here goes: for a little over two years, you engaged in an affair with Tywin Lannister. About six months ago, you broke off said affair, left King’s Landing, and briefly stayed at Winterfell before removing to High Garden, where you’ve remained for the last several months.”

“How—how did you find all that out? We were so careful…”

“I’m even better at my job than Mr. Lannister’s pet spider.”

“Oh.”

Jaime broke back in, “We’re not here to sit in judgment on you, Sansa. We need to know the rest of the story. Well, _I_ need to know so I can decide what to do about my father.”

She looked at him in alarm, “Is he all right? What happened? Please, I need to—”

“All in good time, my dear, but first, tell us what we don’t know.”

Jaime hadn’t been lying when he said that he and Brienne were not there to judge her. Their faces were open and honest, ready to hear what she had to say, so she told them everything. She concluded her story by trying to explain why she had gone to such great lengths to get away from Tywin, “I love him more than anything, but I _know_ him. I know what he’s like as a father, and I didn’t want that for my child.”

“And what is he like as a father?” Jaime’s voice was hard and his lips had thinned in displeasure.

Sansa wasn’t intimidated though, after all, he couldn’t hold a candle to Tywin. “He’s manipulative, uncaring, sometimes cruel, other times neglectful. He never had a kind word to say about your brother and sister.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Then why are you so angry?”

“I’m angry because you never stopped to look at _his_ reasons. My mother died giving birth to Tyrion. My father loved her more than anything else in the world, including his children, but he did his duty by us, by all of us. Is Tyrion treated with scorn and derision? Yes, but as of the last decade or so, it has more to do with his excessive whoring, drinking, and lack of respect for his family name. Cersei is an alcoholic who has spent the last decade drinking herself into an early grave. Her children are the product of an affair, which has been over for quite some time, with her twin brother. That’s me, in case you were unsure. Now, my father, being aware of all of this, has never turned his back on us, though Tyrion continues to cut it rather close, and I doubt he ever will.

“But instead of giving him a chance to try again, you ran. You made him think his child wasn’t his, that you didn’t love him, that you were going to marry the grandson of his greatest rival. Wouldn’t it have been easier to _talk_ to him about your concerns? I think you ran because you were afraid of something else entirely: you were afraid of what your parents, your friends, the whole godsdamned world would think of you for fucking an old man and having his child. And do you know what that makes you, Sansa Stark? A godsdamned coward, which is the most un-Stark-like thing you could ever be. Am I wrong?”

Sansa had spent months burying that piece of truth beneath all of her excuses, half-lies, and insecurities about why she ran. She knew that her fears regarding Tywin as a father were not unfounded, but Jaime was right. Sansa didn’t want her parents to look at her with disappointment and horror; she didn’t want people whispering behind her back. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Godsdamned right I’m not.”

“But I wasn’t wrong to do what I did.”

“I know that, but it can’t go on like this. He’s a monster to be around and it’s _your_ fault.”

Sansa felt terror rising in her, clawing at her insides, but she had to ask him anyway, “What should I do?”

“Fucking fix it! I don’t care how, just fix it.”

“What should I do if I can’t?”

“Hole yourself up in the North and be grateful that wars are fought with pens and lawyers instead of men and swords. Although, he might be so ecstatic at your return that you’ll end up imprisoned in our ancestral home for the rest of your life. Or, he could marry you. You won’t know until you confront him.”

“And you would be okay with that, him marrying me?”

“If it stops him from trying to rip my head off every time I see him, then yes.” 

* * *

 Jaime and Brienne left her a little while later. Her mind and emotions were in chaos.

She’d just put her life back together. What would she do if he tore it apart?

But what if he listened, what if he took her back and forgave her, and what if he agreed to try to be a good father? There were too many what ifs and not enough answers.

It was time for her to stop being a coward and muster the incorrigible Stark optimism because she had a lion to fight.


	11. In which there is musing on the past and an unexpected intruder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: My dearest readers, I am hoping that posting this chapter will give me the swift kick in the ass that I need to finish this fic! School/teaching is currently controlling my life, and it probably won’t stop until the semester is over, but I make a solemn-ish vow that I will have this fic finished within two weeks! Right, I expect you lovely people to hold me to that.

Tywin Lannister was not a man who dwelled on regret. Instead, he moved forward with purpose, letting thoughts of _tomorrow_ dominate thoughts of _today_. However, if he were caught in a weak moment (an impossibility by anyone’s reckoning), he might admit to a desire to have something…better.

Had he paid more attention to his children, Jaime and Cersei’s activities would have been prevented. Had he formed a small amount of affection for his youngest son, Tyrion would not be letting his not insignificant intellect go to waste.

If he had not been so enraged, he could have asked Sansa why.

Tywin had gone to High Garden to hear her reasons, intending to be perfectly rational about the whole thing, but his intentions had fallen by the wayside when he saw her glowing in that way reserved for expecting mothers and well-fucked women. In that moment, her reasons became unimportant and all that mattered was wounding her as deeply as he could. He had been gratified by the hurt on her face when he called her a whore, but the feeling was transient and when it left, it left him feeling hollow.

Knowing that he could not correct the past, Tywin attempted to move beyond it, but the specter of Sansa Stark lingered in his life (and his heart). He had resolved to throw away her gifts, but when his hands touched the eiderdown quilt hanging over the arm of his couch, he hesitated.

It had been the first gift she’d ever given him. She had laughed at his nonplussed expression, “What can you get a man who owns a good chunk of the world? I settled on something practical.” Then she had leaned in close to him, whispering conspiratorially, “We can _snuggle_ under it.” Sansa had laughed all the harder when his face twisted in distaste.

Realizing that excising physical memories of her would not spark sudden memory loss of his time with her, he decided to keep them as reminders of how close he came to ruin.

Tywin persisted in this manner until he received the wedding invitation.

Though it had found its way into the rubbish bin immediately, it preyed on him. Visions of Sansa clad in a shimmering white dress, belly swollen with child, gliding down an aisle towards the Tyrell whelp assaulted him. He almost opened the invitation several times, wanting his eyes to confirm the words that would be printed on the paper. But it went back into the bin.

His son, damn him, had noticed and asked. His answer had been succinct, his tone had dissuaded further questions, but Jaime plucked the invitation out, saying that he _loved_ weddings, especially after attending his own.

The reminder of his new daughter-in-law distracted him, had presented another set of issues for him to dwell on, and his son had been waved away with an impatient hand. Jaime had gone to High Garden a week later, dragging his giant bride with him, leaving Tywin to become a seething mass of anger and hatred.

On the day of the wedding, Jaime called, leaving a cheerful message about how beautiful the bride was, how handsome her groom had been.

In response, Tywin threw his mobile at his office door, and it had shattered on impact. He did not need his son to tell him how beautiful a bride Sansa was, for he had been seeing that image in his mind’s eye for the last three months.

He put in extra hours that day, not arriving at his flat until the early hours of the next morning. There were several lights on, and he made a note to admonish the cleaning service provided by the building. As he made his way towards the kitchen, a soft voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hi.”

He turned and saw Sansa Sta—no, Sansa _Tyrell_ , sitting on his couch, _snuggled_ into the eiderdown quilt.

She repeated her greeting and added, “We need to talk.”

In lieu of answering her, Tywin went in search of a stiff drink. If he stayed in the room with her for another moment, she would find herself either throttled or fucked, or perhaps both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note Part II: What do you say, how ’bout I up the rating on this fic?


	12. In which Sansa goes after Tywin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hello, my lovelies! This is just a little tidbit to put you on edge for the next chapter (which I have written and will post in a few days). I’m not trying to drag this ouch so much as give myself time to finish the fic…I was bitten by another plot bunny, so I need to wrap this up before I become too distracted! Please, enjoy the cliffhanger, it’s a doozy!

Sansa blinked, shocked by his sudden departure. That was not how she had envisioned their meeting when she boarded the Tyrells’ company jet with the intention of flying to King’s Landing. But, now that she thought about it, what she had imagined seemed equally improbable, if not impossible. She had hoped that he would listen to her, that they would make up…

Clearly, her hopes were too high. 

Curious to see what he was doing, she followed him and was unsurprised when she found him in his study. Tywin preferred to fight from a position of power, and he always felt more secure when he was surrounded by emblems of his might. His shelves were filled with awards and various pictures of important men and women posing with him. This room reminded its occupants to tread lightly lest they provoke the wrath of the lion of Casterly Rock. Sansa could not afford to heed such warnings now, not when she had her future to fight for.

“I hadn’t thought to be the cause of driving you to drink.”

He refused to answer, merely poured more whiskey into the tumbler and drank it down silently.

“Tywin, please, can’t we talk?”

“And what would we speak of, Mrs. Tyrell?” His voice attacked her with its cruel intensity. “I cannot imagine why you are even here when you should be flitting off to some tropical island for your _honeymoon_.”

Disdain dripped from his every word, but Sansa held firm. “I won’t be going anywhere for my honeymoon.”

“Why would that be? I was unaware that your husband guarded his expenses so closely. Perhaps some secret vice has given him shallow pockets?” His sneering tone implied that Willas’ imagined vice was of the female sort, but she waved away his bait. It was time for the first painful truth of the evening. “I won’t be going on a honeymoon, but Willas and his wife are making their way to Dorne as we speak.”

Sansa watched as Tywin’s eyes hardened and his fists clenched. “Perhaps you might explain what the fuck that means, _Miss Stark_ , and explain it quickly.”


	13. In which Tywin learns the whole truth and has his say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I don’t know if this is the chapter that you’ve been waiting for, but I think it will be cathartic for you. Please enjoy, lovely readers, and take comfort in the knowledge that there is at least one more chapter to go!

Her words repeated themselves over and over again, playing on an endless loop, condensing into one singular piece of truth: she was not married. But he needed more than that, he needed to hear the words from her lips, needed to fully realize the truth that had lingered at the back of his brain, gnawing at him.

“Perhaps you might explain what the fuck that means, _Miss Stark_ , and explain it quickly.” He bit the words out, watching as she flinched at the carefully restrained anger in his voice. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Tywin could see her struggling to string her words together, struggling to put voice to the truth buried by months of lies. “My patience, Miss Stark, was close to nonexistent _before_ you stole into my home. It is now gone. Speak, or I will throw you out my door.”

His anger seemed to unify her thoughts and she cried, “Gods, Tywin, don’t you even care that the baby is—”

Sansa bit her lip and looked away.

“ _Say it_ , woman! You’ve lied to me for too long. _Say it_!”

“It’s yours, Tywin. The baby is yours, not Willas’.”

The truth that he had secretly known, but had covered in layers of anger and hurt and confusion, bloomed in his chest. Still, it was not enough; he needed to know _why_. Why had she not told him about the baby? What had driven her to deceive him so thoroughly?

Tywin stalked closer to her, crowding her with his palpable fury. He both hated and reveled in the awareness her warmth engendered, his body suddenly aching, desiring naked flesh on naked flesh to soothe away the emptiness of the last several months. “Tell me why, Sansa, why did you go to such elaborate lengths? We’ve been involved for years now…I want to know why you threw all that away, why you threw _me_ , away!”

“Jaime came to the wedding, you know.”

Her _non sequitor_ took him aback, “What does my son have to do with what is between us?”

She glanced down at her burgeoning stomach and raised an eyebrow. It was a look she had worn only a few times during their relationship, one that he had unknowingly passed on to her. He allowed her a small nod, recognizing the implication of his poor choice of words.

“Well, he and his wife cornered me after the ceremony, and then he gave me the dressing down of my life, which forced me to reevaluate my actions.”

Gods, he had passed on more than his expressions. How much of his personality had she absorbed? “And what conclusions did you come to?”

“When I found out, gods…I’d never been so terrified in my life. So many things were going through my head, but in the end, I told myself that you would be a bad father (I know what you’re like with the ones you already have). I told myself that my baby would be better off as a Stark instead of a Lannister…”

The need for honesty that was bread into the Starks would be the end of them one day. How dare she make assumptions about his life, about the lives of his children? The still-rational part of his mind urged him to concede her point, but she’d pricked his pride, and once roused, it was a dangerous thing. “Since you seem quite content to let _your_ spawn grow up among ignorant wildlings, I question your need to tell me any of this. Had you held fast to your lies, I would have been none the wiser.”

“Oh, don’t act so fucking wounded, Tywin. You _know_ what you’re like, your children do too, but that’s not why I ran. I mean, that was the reason I gave, but it was all a lie.”

“Well, you’ve tossed enough of those around the last several months; what is one more on the scales?”

Sansa’s face reddened, and he smirked inwardly. Starks made such easy targets and even after prolonged exposure to him, Sansa was still Stark through and through.

She let out a huff before continuing, “I know, and I’m sorry for all of them, but they just felt so _necessary_ at the time…looking back now, I know that it all comes down to what Jaime said. I was so godsdamned afraid of what people would say when they found out about us, what my parents would say. Gods, it was shallow and petty, so I covered it up. I put all the blame on you and kept none for myself and _my_ weaknesses. Once I had admitted it, accepted it, I couldn’t continue living the lie. One flight later and I was here, but it’s also more than that. And you probably don’t want to hear this right now, maybe never after the way I’ve treated you…

“These last six months have been torture. I feel like I can’t breathe properly. I wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for you, and when I realize that you’re not there, I cry myself back to sleep. I love you. I’m in love with you, but gods, I’m scared. What if I’ve fucked this up beyond repair? What if you don’t feel the same? What if you decide to keep the baby but not me? What if—”

Tywin cut her off, covering her mouth with his own, luxuriating in the feel of her beneath him after months of deprivation. He felt her arms go around his neck, tugging him closer to her. He exulted in the taste of her for a long moment, then broke away, quieting her protests with a finger to her lips. “You’ve had your say, Sansa, and now I will have mine.”

She nodded and attempted to move back, but he stayed her with a hand on her hip. “Honesty is not the sole province of Starks, but it does not come naturally to me, nor does talk of _feelings_. However, I will admit to feeling betrayed, Sansa. Trust is even more ephemeral to me than honesty, and you discarded my trust in you when you concocted your scheme. Those first several weeks I _worried_. You, who had been a constant in my life for over two years, vanished, and what clues you left behind did nothing to alleviate my concern. Then I find out that you are pregnant, and though common sense would dictate that I question anything I hear from Joffrey, that I question the your uncharacteristic infidelity, instead I played right into your plans.

“You _left_ me, Sansa, you lied to me, denied me you and my child, all out of your fear of what others might think. And now you offer yourself to me, so guilelessly, hoping that I might have a shred of human decency to spare you after ensuring my everlasting enmity through your actions.”

Sansa tried to break away from him, her eyes wide with fear, but he anchored her to him firmly. “No, Sansa, _listen_. Your punishment is this: to spend the rest of your life making it up to me. You are _mine_ , Sansa Stark, and I’ll not give you another opportunity to run.”

Tywin saw tears well in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. He wiped them away and placed a soft hiss on her mouth. Though he could not forgive her yet, he knew that he would in time, and in time, he would make her his wife and welcome another child into the world. However, her body pressing against his reminded him that he had not been inside her, had not felt her flesh around his in far too long. He deepened the kiss, twining his tongue with hers, and set his hands to wandering across her body, reclaiming every part of her that he could reach. Sansa broke away, gasping for air as she laid her head against his chest.

“Either we move to the bedroom, or I will fuck you here and now.”

Her weak laugh was muffled by her refusal to lift her head away from him, “Gods, we’re a bit cliché, but I don’t think I care. Bedroom, now, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note Part II: As I was talking to themysteryvanishing last night, it occurred to me that I have not actually revealed the sex of the baby. She suggested I take bets and see who gets it right…Sure, why not?


	14. In which there is a different kind of reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So….uh, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year? Yeah, I swore up and down that I would get this complete before the New Year arrived, and I have made good on my promise! The only explanation I have is that school blew up in my face right around the time that I posted the last chapter, and something had to give. Unfortunately, that thing was the fic. On the bright side, the first semester of my doctorate was a slam-dunk with three A’s! 
> 
> P.S. The baby is a girl! I know a lot of you were hoping for a boy, but this whole time I’ve referred to it as a girl in my head. Not to worry though, I’m sure that the great Tywin Lannister is above being wrapped around the finger of his baby girl. Just look at Cersei.

Tywin’s bedroom was dim, its only source of light coming from the moon hanging over King’s Landing. Sansa was glad for it because as eager as she was to see his bared flesh again, she was not at all happy about the reverse happening. For the last six months, the only person to see her in a state of undress was Osha, and even that had been the lifting of her skirt and shirt, nothing beyond that.

She was nervous. Pregnancy had changed her body, not as much as it changed the bodies of other women perhaps, but it was enough to make her self-conscious of the way she looked. The breasts that used to ride high on her chest were fuller and extremely sensitive, so sensitive, in fact, that most days she would forego the use of her bra (as she had on the plane earlier, her aching breasts overcoming her sense of propriety). Her ankles would often swell, prompting several hours of elevated feet and little movement beyond the turning of a page or the flicking of a remote button. Her stomach, though, was the true source of her sudden shyness. For so long it had remained, well, flat-ish, rounding only slightly as the months passed, but in the last month she had suddenly become _ravenous_ (a byproduct of the lack of physical relief that manifested as hunger for food, when all the while what she really craved was _Tywin_ ). Though she did not look several months pregnant, it was now obvious that she was carrying a child within her.

He would be the first, and last, man to see her like this. She was godsdamned _petrified_.

“Sansa?”

Oh gods, he must have seen her reluctance and misinterpreted it! Sansa grasped his hand and squeezed, trying to reassure him of her sincerity via touch, but it was not enough; his eyes were guarded and he looked unsure, _unlike_ himself. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Tywin, I swear. I feel like I might die if I don’t touch you, but…”

“What?”

“I look so different, I _feel_ so different. What if you glance at me and decide that you don’t want me anymore?”

Tywin let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Tywin Lannister! It’s a legitimate concern!”

“Oh, I am sure that you think it is, but do you really believe that over our time together that I have not had similar thoughts? That every time I bared my body to you, I did not worry that you would be repulsed by the obvious signs of my age? Oh, I have had enough ‘concerns’ for a lifetime in relation to you.”

It seemed so contrary to his personality that he should feel that way, especially in light of the fact that she had often worshipped at his body like an acolyte in the sept. Not an inch of him had been spared the press of her lips or the glide of her tongue.

But perhaps what was needed at this moment, at this meeting of their bodies, was not an affirmation of her beauty, but of _his_. The thought was appealing, and it spurred her into action.

Sansa released his hand and reached for the buttons of his waistcoat (his coat had been the first casualty of their rush to the bedroom, left behind in a rumpled pile on his study’s floor). Her fingers hesitated on the first button, unsure of his desire to cede some control to her.

In their time together, she had only undressed him a few times. Tywin preferred to strip her of her clothes before relieving himself of his own. Rarely had he allowed her the pleasure of removing his armor from him. Letting her fingers rest on his chest, she looked up at him, questioning with her eyes because she dared not voice the words.

Thankfully, he understood her silent question and nodded slightly, dropping his hands to his sides, waiting for her to make the next move.

Her fingers moved again, easing the buttons from the cloth that bound them, slowly revealing the shirt underneath. Sansa pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders and down his arms, then went to work on the next layer.

Unconsciously, her actions mirrored a process that had occurred throughout their relationship, except there was now the revelation of his body, instead of the revelation of _him_. The movement of her hands became methodical and contemplative; she lingered over parts of him, appreciating them anew. The fine bones of his forearms which tapered down into strong wrists and elegant fingers. The curve of his hips, around which her legs had clenched and cradled. The sinews and muscles of his legs belied his age; they were taut and firm, but they also quivered with every pass of her hand.

Sansa could tell that he was ready to end her exploration, ready to throw her on her back and bury himself deep inside of her. She wanted that too, but it couldn’t satisfy her sudden hunger, the craving that had been building inside of her, making her shake with need. Her gaze narrowed on his cock, jutting out from the gold and silver thatch of hair. It had been so long; her last taste of him seemed like it was years past.

The urge to take him into her mouth was overwhelming, but she drew him in slowly, wanting to savor the sudden, explosive taste of him on her tongue. Instantly, his hands were in her hair, urging her to his cock deeper, but Sansa resisted. She pulled back, gliding her tongue around the head, dipping into the tip.

She heard a groan float down to her ears, and she gave him an answering moan. Tywin’s thighs were now shaking under her fingers, his desire vibrating through her, increasing her own. Carefully, she opened her mouth wider and took him back in, sinking to the base of his cock, holding him there for a moment while she breathed the scent of him in.

Tywin’s fingers bit into her shoulders, drawing her away, pulling her up into a fierce kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, seeking out every bit of his essence that she had gathering, imprinting the memory of his taste on her tongue. The sensations drove her wild, made her writhe against him, and stand on her toes in an effort to get closer. However, her clothing impeded her progress.

Sansa stepped back and began to pull her dress up her legs; she spared a quick thought of thankfulness to whatever had encouraged her to keep it on after the wedding. Tywin’s large, warm hands joined her own, and soon her dress was up and over her head, then on the floor beside them. She pressed her naked chest against his, sighing in relief: _she was home_. After all her running, she was finally home in the arms of her beloved. Tywin seemed to savor the pause in their frantic activity as much as she did, letting one hand rest in the small of her back while the other caressed her cheek.

But the gentle touches could not forestall her needs forever, and Sansa was soon pushing him back, urging him towards the bed. Once at the bedside, they turned, and Tywin eased her down onto the coverlet. What had started as hurried fucking transformed into slow lovemaking. His mouth engaged hers for what felt like ages, their tongues meeting, twining, and parting, her breaths coming in sighs and moans. Her hands wandered over his tense shoulders and down his back, nails raking slightly, sliding through the perspiration gathering there. He shivered and rocked his hips into hers.

The long-awaited contact between cock and cunt had them both moaning for more. Sansa broke away from the kiss, panting into his ear, “Ty-Tywin. _Please_.” Any more foreplay and she would go up in flames, she knew she would. Tywin shifted his weight to one hand and the other slid through her wet cunt before grasping his cock.

Sansa widened the spread of her legs and lifted her hips. He slid all the way into her with one slow thrust, not stopping until he was flush against her. Tywin let out a long breath and rested his forehead on hers. They breathed together for a moment, relishing the feeling of their connected bodies.

Soon, the tension was too much, and Sansa clenched her muscles around Tywin’s cock, prompting him to move. He let out a quiet curse and eased himself back, but thrust home again quickly, as if he could not bear to be parted from her depths for an instant. She hitched her leg up and over his hip, tugging him closer. “It’s all right, Tywin, I’m here. I’m _yours_. I won’t be going anywhere ever again.”

Those words appeared to be just what he needed to hear, for he shuddered against her once, drew a deep breath, and began to thrust in and out of her cunt in earnest. The heavy slide of his hips against hers was something she had missed desperately, but the way his body _strained_ and moved over her made her breath catch in her throat every time. Tywin was magnificent and fierce in his lovemaking, seeking for her pleasure and his own with every movement. One thrust had her gasping into his mouth, but he had already moved away. “No! Please, right there, Tywin!”

She could feel him adjusting and squirmed to help. The results of their combined efforts had her legs shaking as he thrust up against her. Every thrust and stroke stimulated her clit and her g-spot simultaneously, and it was too much for her to bear. Sansa came apart around his cock, muscles squeezing and trembling. Tywin thrust hard one last time, moaning low into her ear as he came and came before collapsing onto his elbows.

As they came down from their high, she trailed her fingers across his cheeks, down his nose, and over his lips. He was a sight to behold, even in what little light the moon offered: cheeks flushed, eyes bright but sated, absolutely perfect. “I missed you. All the time. I carried you with me to the North and to High Garden, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Yours was an absence that became impossible to reconcile. I will not allow it a second time.”

Sansa smiled up at him, knowing that it was his way of telling her of his love. “I can live with that.”

“Good.”

He pulled away then and Sansa flushed when she felt their combined releases trickling out of her. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It is nothing. Stand up.”

She moved her legs over the side of the bed and put her feet on the floor; she was unsurprised to find that they still shook a little. Tywin tossed back the coverlet and the sheets before lying back down, beckoning her to lie next to him. Their breath soon evened and matched as they slipped into sleep.


	15. Epilogue: Breaking News.

The shout brought her running into the room, “What? What is it? What’s wrong?!”

“Cat, oh gods, _Cat_ , _the_ _paper_. Tell me it’s not true!”

Catelyn Stark took the newspaper from her husband’s limp fingers. The image on the page was unmistakable, and its headline screamed at her in bold, black letters: **JUST MARRIED: LANNISTER TYCOON AND STARK HEIRESS!**

“Cat?”

She gazed into her husband’s pale face, “Ned, I think we may have been mistaken about the identity of the father of our grandchild.”

Ned nodded, looking miserable. “Cat, what are we going to do?”

“The only thing we can do: we’ll invite our new son-in-law to dinner.”

There was a loud thump that sounded not unlike a body hitting the floor. Cat looked down at the passed out form of her husband with vague amusement that soon left her as she read the short article again. She sighed heavily, “Well, only one thing for it.” Cat knew that out of all her children, there was one that could be counted on to corroborate the story.

“RICKON!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: That’s all for this one, folks! Thank you so much for bearing with me! And a special thank you to Tommyginger, who decided to check on me to make sure that I was still among the land of the living. Now that this fic is done, I feel that I might be able to start writing for fun again, but it may not last long. I’ve got another semester coming up, and that means more classes, more papers, and more grading! Thank you again for reading! You guys are the best!


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